An Unexpected Confession
by theheartofadetective
Summary: Molly brooded, sinking further into her bed with the sheets pulled over her head. Today was Molly's wedding day, and it was the worst day of her life. Well, it was supposed to be her wedding day, up until about 10 hours ago. She didn't want to see anyone; she didn't even want to talk to anyone. All that she would have liked was to lie in her bed and have a good cry.


**A/N: Hello! So I was in desperate need of a break from Always and Never as that gets emotionally draining. And then I just wrote something else emotionally draining, but whatever. I'm pretty proud of it and I hope you all like it. This is the most angsty I've ever written Molly before. Enjoy (especially the smut)! Reviews would be greatly appreciated. **

Molly brooded, sinking further into her bed with the sheets pulled over her head. Today was Molly's wedding day, and it was the worst day of her life. Well, it was supposed to be her wedding day, up until about 10 hours ago.

She didn't want to see anyone; she didn't even want to talk to anyone. All that she would have liked was to lie in her bed and have a good cry. She wanted to cry until there weren't enough tears anymore, but of course she was disturbed. Of course - because he could never let her have anything.

Molly heard the sound of a door closing. She rolled her eyes from the darkness below her sheets, not moving. She was in no disposition to greet anyone.

"Go away," she said flatly as she heard footsteps stop in the doorway of her room. She assumed that it was Mary; she had probably woke up to find Molly's text plainly stating _Weddings off –Mx_. Molly was not in the mood to say why, she was not in the mood to even think about it, as much as her thoughts would not let her stop doing exactly that. Mary didn't need to hear it though, because she would already know why. Her best friend knew everything about her deranged love life.

"Molly?" the deep, familiar baritone reverberated through her ears.

She could have fucking screamed.

Instead, she groaned loudly as she turned on her side, still letting her bed clothing cover her whole body, somehow protecting her from the outside world. "What do you want?" her voice cracked.

Molly was hanging by a loose thread. The last person on earth that she wanted to see was Sherlock. He had caused this, he was always the reason she felt this way and she was tired of it. She wasn't sure she could prepare herself for the words that fell from his mouth. "John all but threw me out of the flat," he huffed, "said Mary would kill me and didn't let me back in." He was oblivious to her mood, or so he seemed. Clearly his deduction skills had gone awry on the wrong day. Why couldn't he read her when she wanted him to?

It wasn't that he didn't know; he knew full well after Mary had yelled at him and all but threw something at his head. That's why he was here. He felt immensely guilty, but unsure of how to approach the situation. He should probably just take Mary's advice.

Molly angrily removed the covers from the top half of her body, a bitter, sarcastic chuckle escaping her lips in ire. "Really? _The_ Sherlock Holmes hasn't figured it out yet? Do you not even remember what your plans were for today?

She was pissed for a multitude of reasons. She was pissed at Thomas, pissed at Sherlock, but mostly at herself. Molly could have stood up to Sherlock, not let him get in the middle of her relationship. But she didn't, because she didn't want to, not _really_. It was partly her own fault that she wasn't getting married today. But she was hurt, and it was not like he had no part in what happened.

Molly knew she shouldn't have said yes in the first place, and she reprimanded herself every day since. The problem was that she let it slide into the back of her thoughts like it wasn't a problem at all. Thomas was lovely, charming, and incredibly good to her. The problem was that she didn't love him. Thomas deserved better and she waited until it blew up in her face, leaving herself and probably Thomas destroyed.

When she spoke, she finally sat up in her bed, and Sherlock immediately began deducing her. Her eyes were rimmed red and puffy, tears stains down her cheeks, and dark circles rested under her eyes. There was clearly lots of crying and no sleep.

He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he stayed in his spot. She had never acted this way towards him.

There was bitterness and resentment in her voice. She loved him more than she would love anyone, but after she gave up her childish of hope of him somehow realising how much he loved her, she wanted to move on. Slowly, she tried her best not to show it as much, but she always thought she was doing better than she was. You couldn't actually stop yourself from loving someone, could you?

No, Sherlock Holmes would know that better than anyone at this point. He had been trying for so long to push Molly out of his thoughts, but she haunted every corner of his mind palace. Anyone could pretend, but it would never fully go away. You couldn't just get used to it and move on when it was a person you saw so frequently.

When Sherlock said nothing, she grumbled something inaudible before forcing herself out of bed. She tried to walk past Sherlock as if he wasn't there, but both of their hearts thudded in their chests as Molly passed by. She walked into the kitchen to make some tea, not sure what else would calm her nerves.

Dumbfounded, which was not a word that often described Sherlock, but he asked: "What happened?" Isn't that what people like to do when their upset, talk it out? Not always, but Sherlock would be damned if he wasn't going to try to do the right thing.

Molly continued to take the loose tea out of the tin, not able to look at Sherlock as she spoke. This was the first time she was saying it out loud, making it static and real. "Oh, you know, he decided to get drunk with his mates and then showed up here, complaining about how 'Sherlock sees you more than I do' and 'You drop everything for Sherlock, you even drop me."

Molly took a deep breath as she could feel herself beginning to fall apart. Everything Thomas had said was true. Her voice cracked and her hands shook as she continued. "And then 'you care more for a miserable sod that treats you like rubbish than you do for me."

All of this felt worse now as it came out. "And finally," she breathed as she turned around "he ended with 'why don't you just marry him, because you clearly you don't want to marry me."

She turned back around, breathing hard as she did so, anxiety rising in her chest. Sherlock was taking a minute to think about what she said, and decided to take the honest route. It was not always the best option, to be _too_ honest as he usually was, but Sherlock did not know the best thing to say when it came to matters of the heart.

"You didn't want to marry him though," he stated like it was a matter of fact.

Molly dropped the tin onto the counter, a loud clang ringing against the walls of the room. She didn't care to pick up the new mess on the counter as she whipped around. Her hands were balled up into fists, her nails digging into her palms. "You didn't tell me that."

"Sorry?" he said, an eyebrow rose in confusion.

"You," her voice cracked, a sob threatening to erupt from her throat. "Obviously," she said in a mocking tone, hesitating now as she tried to stop herself from crying. "No, because you can never tell anyone anything. You have to make your stupid comments and your subtle hints. Or like when it's me and you blatantly try to ruin everything; because you can't let me have anything."

She breathed in and out, trying to catch her breath, still trying her best to keep composure. "I've tried to move on, but you just can't let me forget. We're supposed to be friends, Sherlock," she cracked. "Never once in concern for my future did you sit me down and inform me that it didn't seem that I had wanted that. No, it's always about you."

Sherlock had not thought about it in this light. Somehow he justified he was being nice, maybe she would realise herself. No, it was just cruel, and now Molly's heart was broken. He took a few steps toward her, that feeling of need to comfort her trying to take over again. He reached out to touch her arm as he spoke. "Molly, I'm sor-"

"Don't - say it," she pleaded, a lump in her throat rising as tears began to sting her eyes. "For gods sake, don't say it. I am not ready to forgive you; I don't _want_ to forgive you."

His brain told him that he should take a step back from her and give her space to breathe. That if he touched her she would crack. But for some reason, one that Sherlock wasn't thinking too hard about, he let his heart tell him what to do.

In a brave move, he took another step towards her. His hand made its full motion to rest on her forearm. He lightly caressed his thumb up and down as he stared into her dark brown eyes as moisture threatened to take her over at any second.

Molly's eyes widened as she looked at him, unsure of what to do. That small amount of hope she had was trying to resurface itself, but she refused to let it. It would be stupid, foolish of her after all of this emotional turmoil to put herself in a position for more hurt. She bit down on her tongue as she felt his hand gently slide up her arm until his hand was cradling her cheek. She was trying her best to resist letting herself sink into the feeling of his warm hand.

"You don't love me, Sherlock," she said, breaking the silence. Her eyes fluttered shut as tears streamed down from behind her lids. "Why can't you let someone else?"

Sherlock kept his hand against her cheek, tears falling against his hand as he tried to make a decision.

_You better go and tell her how you feel or so help me._

Mary spat that at him before he left. He flinched when she said it; only John had tried to subtly hint that he got a feeling that Sherlock cared more for Molly than he would admit. Mary wasn't stupid though, she knew; and it became very obvious when he became a bigger pain in the ass as the day for the wedding came closer.

"Because I _am_ selfish," he admitted gently, "and I don't want anyone else to love you."

Molly gasped as her eyes opened, looking at him wondrously as tears still fell down her cheeks. His eyes were softer than she had ever seen, but his expression was pained.

"Sherlock," she tried to say, but his thumb pressed over her lips. She had interrupted him enough for the day and had done most of the talking up until this point. It was his turn; she was compliantly silent as she listened.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness. I have done enough for you to hate me for a lifetime," he said as Molly watched him intently. She would never hate him, she loved him too much, and Sherlock knew that without her saying.

"For all of that, I truly am sorry. It's never my intention to hurt you, but I somehow, in the end, always do it. I am not good when it comes to feelings, or sentiment, or caring, but you are wrong…" he trailed off, almost biting his tongue.

He let out a sigh and she was silent as she waited for him to continue. He closed his eyes; it was too raw, too emotional to look into her dark eyes as he said it. "I do love you, Molly."

Sherlock felt her freeze for all of a second before both of her hands came up to cup his face. Her gentle, soft skin was comforting against his. "You're such a git," she whispered, and he could almost hear her smile as she let out a small laugh, as much as her broken, crying voice would permit her.

He opened his eyes to see a bright smile on her face and he wiped the tears from her cheeks. She had forgiven him before he even spoke, as she always would. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks, but they were not from sadness. They were relieved, almost in disbelief as she realised how much he truly meant his own words.

She leaned her forehead against his. "You could have told me this before the day of my wedding, you know," their noses touching as his smile mirrored hers now. "Now I'm a right mess, and I'm also in a right mess." She didn't care though. There was nothing better than hearing those words from Sherlock. They were true, they were real, and she believed him whole-heartedly.

"_Your _best friend all but attacked me for not speaking up yet," he laughed. Sherlock felt as relieved as she did, finally saying something he tried for so long to push out of his head. He could embrace it rather than fight it. He brought his lips down to meet hers, his arms wrapping around her waist as she sank into him.

She kissed him almost frantically as her hands entangled into his curls, small gasps elicited from her throat as he pressed himself closer to her. Every feeling in Sherlock's body, every nerve tingled, practically surging through him as a wave of hormones breached the surface. They had broken out of their suppressed state and nothing Sherlock had ever experienced could compare to the waves of intimacy and passion he had for Molly.

Sherlock picked her up and placed her so she was sitting on the counter. His tongue parted Molly's lips, a whine coming from her throat and he intook it through their kiss. She let his tongue explore inside of her mouth, learning her taste, memorizing what actions encouraged the best responses. He wanted to know what she liked, what made her vocal, and wanted to please her in every way.

Molly's hands came down, pushing both his coat and suit jacket off of his shoulders, falling onto the kitchen laminate and forgotten. Her hips pressed into him as she kissed him, refusing to take a breath, not wanting their lips to be separated. She had waited too long for this.

"I love you," Molly said in a breathy voice between kisses, smiling under them. She bit down softly on his lip now as she took in his scent, his taste. It enveloped her and made her dizzy; she wanted more of it.

"I love you too," he replied, a groan eliciting from low in his throat as she bit down a little harder on his lip. His hands slid up under the hem of her shirt, the pads of his finger exploring up and down her sides. She gasped as her skin tingled at his touch.

"Bedroom," Molly whispered as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He chuckled before he picked her up, kissing her as he made his way towards her bedroom. They knocked things over as he went, Sherlock completely disregarding his surroundings. They didn't matter, only Molly did.

Sherlock placed her gently down on the bed, their bodies parting for only a moment before Molly grabbed the lapels of his shirt and pulled him down on top of her. He gave her one long, passionate kiss, before grazing his lips along her jaw and down to her collarbone. A moan escaped her as he nipped at her neck.

Molly's hands began undoing the buttons down his shirt, tugging it out from tucked within his trousers. She kissed at his neck now and could hear his shaky breath. In a matter of only minutes, she had reduced him to a mess. She stopped kissing him to look at his face and he looked like a puppy, his hair in disarray as he looked at her adoringly, his eyes burning with passion for her.

He nudged his nose against her cheek, his eyes closed, taking in a hard breath as he felt her hand escape between his legs, her fingers grazing high up on the inside of his thigh.

She undid the zip on his trousers before moving her hands back up, giving him a devious smile before meeting his lips again. She felt him finally lose his shirt on the floor and pull hers off of her. He had trouble unclasping her bra as he had little to no experience with that. She giggled as she assisted him and he threw it across the room.

Sherlock kissed his way down her chest as he grabbed the band of her pyjama pants, sliding her knickers down along with it. He took a second to rake in the beauty of her fully unclothed body. She moved her hands up to try and cover herself, but he gently grabbed her arms and shook his head before giving a light kiss to her hip bone.

Molly let her arms fall to her sides, beginning to tense up as he kissed low on her. She let out a loud whimper as his tongue ran across her sensitive bud, her nerves tingling as she bucked her hips in approval. Her hands sank into his hair, tugging at his curls. He groaned at the feeling, liking the stimulation of his follicles.

His pace sped up as he slid one finger into her, Molly's breath shaking as she began to lose herself. He let a second finger join inside her as he continued to tease over her sensitive spot with his tongue, making her writhe underneath him. She threw her head back, her eyes clamped shut as her back arched, a loud moan at her release.

When she relaxed, she sank into the bed and all that they could hear was the quiet panting from Molly as she tried to recover her breath. She watched as he kissed back up her body, his hands exploring her sides, her breasts, everywhere.

The trail of kisses stopped when he reached her chest, sliding his tongue across her sensitive nipple before gently biting down. He heard her gasp as he kissed his way over to the other breast, repeating the action. He made his way back up, giving extra attention as he kissed along her throat, giving soft kisses along her jaw.

As he was hovering over her, she met her lips with his, kissing him gently as her fingers tousled the curls at the nape of his neck. She let her other hand run over the hard planes of his shoulders, to his chest and then pressing against his abdomen.

She let her hands slide lower, pushing his trousers down as he helped her, tossing them, along with his boxers, to the floor. Sherlock's hips pressed into her, and as the feeling in the pit of his stomach intensified, Molly's began to stir again when she felt his erection pressing against her thigh.

She wrapped her hand around him, moving her hand in long, slow strokes. She kissed at his collarbone as she heard his breathing quicken, uncontrollable groans from low in his throat.

When she pulled her hand away, he pressed his forehead against hers. He let the tip run along her vulva and down around her opening. He was pressed against her entrance now as he waited. Sherlock looked down at Molly; she was biting her lip and her eyes hovered closed as she nodded in approval.

She felt his hand come up and rest on the side of her neck, his thumb grazing along her cheekbone. "Molly," he began, his voice low, hoarse, and it made her shiver. "Open your eyes," he demanded softly.

As Molly opened her eyes, she looked up to his. The usual cool blue was but only a small rim encircling his blown black pupil as he looked down at her. His thumb grazed her cheekbone one last time before moving along her bottom lip. She gave him a smile of happiness he had not seen from her in such a long time. It was not fake, it wasn't to please someone else's mood. It was for him, it was because she really was happy, and because she would not want to be anywhere else.

She moved her lips to meet his again as she pressed his length into her, only letting half of him fill her before pulling out to the tip. He let out a hard breath as he pushed back into her, filling her completely. Her nails dug into his back as she began to moan. They easily found their rhythm as he moved into her hard but at a slow pace.

As he continued to move into her, she became increasingly tight; he moved faster into her. Both of their breath's ragged and uneven. Molly's loud whimpers encouraged him to move harder into her. Sherlock buried his nose in her hair, close to losing himself as his lips were close to her ear. When he whispered her name into her ear, she clenched around him, moaning his name loudly at her release, him following her only a few thrusts later.

Sherlock rolled onto his side, pulling Molly onto hers as she was still pressed close up against him. Their legs entangled with each other as they kissed each other through their afterglow lazily, but lovingly.

Molly's fingers grazed along his jaw, his cheekbones, and finally resting within his hair as she continued to kiss him. He gave a small nip to her already attention swollen bottom lip before nuzzling his nose against her neck. They lie their quietly and comfortable now as they looked at each other. Molly's tired smile refused to fall from her face.

Sherlock laced his fingers with hers as he let his head rest on his pillow, their noses almost touching her as he looked into her eyes. "You have this week off from work," he remarked before giving her a light kiss.

"I do," she said, scrunching her nose at the irony of the context those words were spoken today.

"I should take you somewhere so your holiday is not ruined as I have ruined your wedding already," he said a bit sheepishly. He still felt guilty for what he had put her through, but all of this was worth it to her now. Of course, she did feel bad for Thomas, but it led to the end note that she had wanted all along, what she seemed to be hopelessly waiting for. She thought about his suggestion for only a few seconds before replying to him.

"I know the perfect place."

He raised one eyebrow at her as he waited for a reply.

"Baker Street," she smiled.

He gave a small chuckle as he cupped her chin. "I think that can be arranged," he replied as he moved his lips to meet hers again.


End file.
